


Consequences

by MaximilianMalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Slow Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaximilianMalfoy/pseuds/MaximilianMalfoy
Summary: Hermione shows up at Grimmauld Place, distraught and heavily pregnant with Harry's child. One stupid mistake has consequences across their lives; will they go back to Hogwarts? How are two eighteen-year-olds supposed to raise a baby? Whose last name does it get?Voldemort has been defeated, yet their biggest challenge is only just beginning.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 21
Kudos: 113





	1. Disruption

**Author's Note:**

> I've tried writing a few fics before but nothing really stuck. This idea has been in my head for ages so I'm finally giving it room to breathe. I'm a bit rusty so don't give up hope if this first chapter is clunky, it can only go uphill.

Harry snored gently, sleeping peacefully for a change. In the weeks since his victory against Voldemort he’d relished his own company, rarely venturing outside Grimmauld Place aside from a few floo calls to the Burrow. For the first time in his life, he had true privacy; within these walls he could truly be himself, and nobody was there to interrupt. Kreacher was willing to act on his every whim, serving him breakfast for dinner, letting him redecorate, ignoring all calls from the world outside, and Harry felt free.

  
Ron had called over weekly, and Ginny had been to see him a few times, but the death of their brother fractured the Weasley clan. Fred’s absent was as looming as his presence had once been. Harry had come to dread his trips to the Burrow, a place he had once longed to call home, for it only served as a reminder of the cruelties of war. He wasn’t looking forward to the funerals.

  
After the battle, Hermione had disappeared to Australia to bring back her parents. She sent him owls every week but had yet to make an appearance. Even Ron felt like she’d disappeared completely. Harry urged him to visit, to set up a long distance floo connection and surprise her. There was no telling how long she’d spend over there, and Harry really couldn’t blame her. Everyone needed time to heal.

  
He had taken up residence in the master bedroom, an ornate room on the third floor looking out over the garden. Harry chose it for its size; it could easily have fitted his bedroom on Privet Drive three times over. While the previous owners had covered every available surface with dark artefacts, Harry had ordered every item of furniture from the Argos catalogue. His walls boasted quidditch posters, his bookshelf held a dozen comics he had never been afforded as a child, but his pride and joy was the bed. A thick feathered mattress, Egyptian silk sheets, so wide he couldn’t reach the two sides a once; Harry spent every night in luxury. 

  
Kreacher stood by the end of his bed a moment, reluctant to wake his sleeping master, before gently clearing his throat, “Master Potter,” he whispered, but Harry showed no sign of stirring. Sighing inwardly, he put one hand on the end of the duvet and tugged it, jolting Harry awake. His wand was in his hand before his eyes had opened, a leftover mechanism from so many months fearing for his life.

  
“Kreacher!” Harry scolded once he’d rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “What have I told you about watching me sleep?”

  
“I mustn’t do it, sir,” Kreacher recited, an admonition he’d received before. He couldn’t help but worry about his young master tossed and turned in the night, sometimes screaming out in his sleep, names Kreacher didn’t recognise.

  
“Why’d you wake me? I was dreaming about a great quidditch match, except we were on hippogriffs instead of brooms, and—”

  
“You have company, sir,” Kreacher interrupted, “Downstairs.”

  
“You’re not to let anyone in!” Harry hauled himself out of bed, bare feet sinking into the thick carpet, “Go get rid of them. It’s the middle of the night, for Merlin’s sake, who even is it?”

“It’s your friend, sir,” Kreacher pulled the door open, and distant sobs were audible, “Hermione Granger arrived by floo. She was quite distraught, otherwise I would have sent her away. It seemed important.”

Harry’s heart leapt into his throat. Why was Hermione here, in tears, in the middle of the night? His mind raced through the possibilities as he took the stairs two at a time, terrified of what he would find at the bottom. Pushing open the living room door, he was greeted by his best friend in a flood of tears on the couch.

“Mione,” he ventured carefully, “What happened? Are you okay?”

Hermione god shakily to her feet, wiping her eyes on a sleeve of her jumper. Harry stared at her slack jawed, unable to believe his eyes. Here stood his best friend, the brightest witch of her age, a crying mess in his house.

She was pregnant.

  
Harry sucked in a deep breath, words catching in his throat. He was desperate to find out more, to ask her what had happened. He raised a hand shakily, gesturing between the two of them. Hermione nodded weakly, breaking down in a fresh round of sobbing. Harry stepped forward to comfort her, and she settled easily into his arms as she had many times before, only now he was acutely aware of the bump between them, a child growing inside her. His child.

“Fuck,” he said when at last he had found his voice, “Hermione, what happened? Does Ron know? Is this why you were avoiding me? How long have you known?”

Hermione only sobbed harder, her tears soaking the collar of his t-shirt. Her entire body shook with each gasp of breath. Harry pulled her closer, one hand absently stroking her back as his mind raced.

“I just flooed here from Australia,” Hermione’s voice was croaky when at last she spoke, “Ron came to surprise me today.”

Harry cursed himself for convincing his friend to visit her in the first place.

“I just didn’t know where else to go, Harry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her, wiping her tears, “You’re always welcome here, Mione, you know that. I don’t know what to say.”

Kreacher appeared with a crack, his face contorted into what Harry could only construe as a grin, “Miss Granger is with child. She carried the heir to the noble house of Black?”

Hermione’s lip shook. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from her protruding stomach, “It’s mine.”

Kreacher seemed delighted by this, rushing off to the kitchen. Harry took Hermione’s hand between his own, raising his eyes to stare her in the face. She stared back, soft brown eyes swimming in tears that threatened to spill at any moment.

“I’m here for you, okay?” Harry squeezed her hand tightly, “No matter what, we are in this together.”

Hermione nodded hard, not trusting herself to speak. The weight of the day finally crashed down on her, and she found herself stifling a yawn. Harry noticed, leading her to the stairs.

“I can’t manage stairs, they’re too hard on my back. I’ll just sleep on the sofa.”

“No, no, I’ll levitate you,” Harry drew his wand, which was promptly snatched off him.

“You can’t do magic on my body. It’s not good for the growth and development of the…” Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat, unable to bring herself to say it.

“Really?” Harry frowned, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’ve been researching it extensively,” Hermione’s eyes lit up with familiar passion, “I have yet to determine the source, however it has long been theorised that the creation of squibs is directly related to magical exertion of the mother during pregnancy.”

Harry smiled to himself while she continued. It was refreshing to see his best friend be herself, so inexplicably interested in everything around her. She rested one hand on her stomach while she talked, unconsciously rubbing her -their -child.

“Well, you’re not sleeping on the couch, so how do I get you up those stairs?” Harry raised an eyebrow, “I could try carrying you?”

Hermione laughed, “Not a chance!”

“What if I levitated something and put you on it?” Harry suggested after a moment’s thought, “Would that affect the, you know, baby?”

Hermione chewed on her lip, trying to remember any studies to the effect. Recalling nothing on the matter, she took an educated guess and nodded, “That could work.”

Harry scampered off to grab a cushion. Hermione stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at the winding staircase of her new home. Of all people to have to go through this with, there was nobody she could trust more than Harry. When she had realised she was pregnant, the day after the battle of Hogwarts, terror gripped her, and she immediately fled to Australia to seek her mother’s counsel.

She and Ron had finally gotten together, after years of tension, they didn’t wait long before getting intimate. After the battle Ron took her to his old dorm, empty and intact, and they took to bed. Lying there after, Ron noticed that she seemed to be the only one not totally starved by their journey, trailing a hand over her body, unwittingly stroking her unborn child. The pieces clicked together, an icy fear creeping up her spine as she made half-baked excuses and fled.

“Wingardium leviosa,” Harry muttered, pointing his wand at a cushion from the couch, which floated before him, “Okay, so if you sit on this, and then I’ll bring it up.” Harry beamed at his ingenious idea, which quickly failed when it proved impossible for the pregnant witch to remain steady.

Harry held the cushion in two hands, carefully pulling it under Hermione until she was seated in his arms bridal-style. Wrapping two arms around his neck to keep herself steady, Hermione rested her head on his shoulder as they began the climb. Harry was unsteady at first, terrified of dropping her, but she was weightless in his arms and easy to manoeuvre. As they reached the landing outside his room, he was beginning to enjoy the sport of it.

He hesitated at the top of the stairs, unsure of where to bring her. Only his own room had been renovated, and he’d hate to stick her in a bed under a banner declaring death to all muggleborns. He kicked open the door to the master bedroom and carried her inside, lowering her onto his bed, casting a lumos to light up the room.

“Wow, Harry, is this your bedroom?” Hermione was impressed by the attention to detail, by how homely it felt. Back when the order set up here it had carried the aura of dark magic, making her feel on edge when she traversed the halls alone. Here, on Harry’s still warm bed, she felt the tension leaving her. This was how she felt finally seeing her parents after so long apart, how she felt getting on the Hogwarts express every September. She felt comfortable.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to redecorate,” he shrugged, scratching the back of his head with one hand, “I wanted it to feel more like a home, you know?”

She nodded up at him, “I can sleep in a guest room if you want, I’d hate to kick you out of your own bed.”

“I haven’t quite gotten around to doing up any other bedrooms,” Harry said, “I’ll get something started tomorrow. I’m not about to take the bed from a pregnant woman though. I can just engorgio the couch or something.”

Hermione blushed, scooting herself backwards and climbing under the covers. She patted the bed next to her, “Harry, you have the biggest bed I’ve ever been in. We could fit four pregnant women in here, I think we’ll manage.”

“I don’t know if we should,” Harry looked conflicted, not wanting to do anything stupid, “That’s how we got into this in the first place.”

“Please?” Hermione asked, “I really don’t want to be alone right now.”

Harry conceded and climbed in beside her. He was about to turn off the lumos when Kreacher appeared, holding a mug in both hands.

“For Miss,” he said, holding it out to Hermione, “Black family recipe, for pregnant mothers. We have never bore a squib! It will help you sleep. Nothing but the best for the first Black baby in decades.”

“It’s not going to be a Black, Kreacher,” Harry sighed, “It’ll be a Potter.”

Hermione took the mug from Kreacher, wary of the warm, milky contents. Not wanting to offend the house elf, she scrunched up her nose and took a tentative sip.

“Oh wow,” she said, turning to Harry, “You have to try this.”

Harry was staring back at her with a dumbstruck expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s going to be a Potter,” he echoed himself hollowly.

“Or a Granger,” Hermione teased, “You never know.”

Harry smiled weakly at this suggestion. Hermione felt awkward in the silence, gulping down more of the sweet nectar Kreacher had given.

“If I can do anything else, summon me immediately Master Potter,” Kreacher took the empty cup back from Hermione, disappearing with a sharp crack.

Harry waved his wand, sucking all the light from the room, and sat up in bed. Hermione could barely make out his features against the light seeping in through the window. Feeling around the bed, she grasped his hand in her own and squeezed gently. He turned to look at her, other hand reaching out to touch her face in the dark and pull her towards him. Rearranging themselves silently, Harry sat against the headboard with her head in his lap. He stroked the side of her face softly, running a hand through her hair as he knew she liked after so long alone together on the run. It all came back to him, muscle memory guiding his fingertips over the rise of her cheekbone and tugging gently at her lips.

“I’ve always been the only Potter,” Harry said after a silence, “Always. For as long as I can remember, it’s just been me.”

Hermione realised then what it must mean to him, to carry on his name. It wasn’t just ego or machismo, it was a need to belong, to fit in somewhere. She kissed his fingers gently next time they stroked her lip, “Of course, Harry, it’ll be a Potter.”

He breathed a small sigh of relief.

“What happened with Ron?”

“He came to see me,” she stifled a yawn between words, “I was so shocked, and flattered, and confused, and happy. He took one look at me, and his face just fell. It was like I’d just told him the

Cannons were disqualified. He didn’t even ask what had happened; he knew instantly.”

Harry felt sick, “And then you just came here?”

“I couldn’t exactly stay. I wasn’t about to go back to the burrow with him, was I?”

“I’ll talk to him,” Harry promised, “This week, at the latest. He’s supposed to come visit tomorrow anyway. I’ll tell him everything, okay? It’ll be okay.”

“It’s such unfortunate timing,” she mumbled, nodding off, “We had finally gotten together and then I’m pregnant with someone else’s child. A six-year crush wasted.”

Harry cursed himself for not thinking of Ginny sooner. What was he going to do about that? Before he could ask whether Hermione was still going to try and date Ron, she began snoring gently. _Problems for tomorrow_ , he thought to himself.

Not wanting to move for fear he’d wake her, Harry reclined back against the plush headboard. Sleep took him not long after.


	2. Ron Pays a Visit

Sun streamed in through the blinds, bathing the room in soft yellow light. Harry stretched at best he could without disturbing Hermione, her head still settled in his lap, both arms wrapped around his knee. He admired the softness of her sleeping featured, lit up with a golden hue. His grey pyjama pants were stained dark with drool on the inner thigh. Her head lay across his upper thighs, her crown occasionally threatening to crush something valuable when she twitched in her sleep.

Unhurried by what the day would bring, Harry relaxed. He grabbed his wand from the nightstand, accioing his glasses and the morning’s Daily Prophet that Kreacher always dropped in first thing. It was already approaching noon, yet Hermione showed no signs of stirring. He silently opened the Prophet and began to skim the stories.

Half an hour passed peacefully before Harry felt jittery. Adjusting as best he could, he felt the overwhelming need for the loo. He groaned at the thought of morning wood cropping up now. Which was better, to wake Hermione now and run off to the bathroom or leave her sleep only to be eventually confronted with a face full of wand?

Not wanting her first day here to get off to such a strange start, Harry began gently sliding himself out from under her. She blinked slowly awake when her head hit the pillow, no longer in such a vicelike embrace of his leg.

“Morning,” she mumbled, wincing at the light in the room as she opened her eyes. She stretched out across the bed, feeling well rested for the first time since she’d found out about the baby. Harry scooted to the edge on the bed, tenderly swinging his legs onto the floor and wincing at the weight on his numb legs.

“Sleep well?” He stood tentatively, both hands resting on the nightstand for support.

“I did actually,” Hermione smiled, “Did I crush your legs?”

“A bit,” Harry grinned, rubbing them for effect, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Saviour of the wizarding world at it again,” she rolled over and climbed to her feet, “I’m dying for a wee; the baby is sitting on my bladder.”

“Bathroom’s through there,” Harry gestured to the en-suite door, ignoring his own bursting need as Hermione locked the door behind her. He sat back on the bed, clenching his fists gently while he waited.

Hermione was amazed yet again by the extravagance. Black marble adorned the room, perhaps a feature from the previous inhabitants. She sat on the toilet and admired the giant bathtub, with a half dozen different taps, and the separate shower with two heads. Harry had even splashed out on scented, three-ply toilet paper. She wondered for the first time how he could afford such casual luxury; she’d heard he had old family money, and she supposed he had probably inherited the Black fortune in turn. Examining the wide variety of soaps and lotions around the sink, Hermione realised she probably hadn’t been the only visitor.

Had Ginny spent the night? she thought absently, scrubbing her hands and fixing her hair in the mirror. She wasn’t entirely sure whether she cared or not.

When she unlocked the door, Harry practically jumped from the bed to run through the door, shutting it hastily behind him. Hermione smiled to herself, settling back onto the bed to read the Prophet he’d left open.

“Did Miss Granger sleep peacefully?” Kreacher called through the door.

“You can come in, Kreacher,” Hermione adjusted her clothes, the jumper and tracksuit she had worn for the last twenty-four hours, “I slept great, thanks.”

“That was the Black Tea,” he beamed, “Special family recipe, to help the baby sleep with you. What can I get you this morning? Master Potter usually takes his breakfast downstairs in the kitchen, but I am always more than happy to bring it up!”

Hermione considered the hassle of getting upstairs yesterday, “I’ll ask Harry.”

As if on cue, he emerged from the bathroom, face dripping water onto his t-shirt.

“Ask me what?”

“What we’re eating for breakfast,” Hermione said, “I don’t want to make a big deal to go all the way downstairs and then have to get up again.”

“What time is it?” Harry asked, looking for his watch in the dresser.

“Almost one, Master Potter.”

“Ron and I have a standing lunch date,” Harry explained, searching for an outfit that said I’m-sorry-I-got-your-girlfriend-pregnant, “I think you should eat here and I’ll come up to you after.”

“I can go with you,” Hermione countered, “I’m part of this too, Harry.”

“Yeah of course,” Harry shrugged, “I just thought that, maybe, it would be better guy-to-guy. I don’t want him to feel like it’s us versus him.”

“He’ll feel that way anyway once he finds out I’m in your bed right now.” Hermione winced, “Maybe you should omit that.”

“Kreacher, will you bring Hermione breakfast here please?”

“What does Miss want?”

“I’ve been craving cocoa pops and coffee actually,” Hermione blushed, “I couldn’t find any Kellogg’s in Australia.”

The elf disappeared with a crack. Harry held up a pair of dark jeans and the blue sweater Molly had knitted him last Christmas.

“Thoughts?”

Hermione laughed at how obviously he was pandering to Ron but gave a thumbs up anyway. Harry pulled his t-shirt over his head, looking for deodorant to spray on. She forced herself to avert her eyes. Even though she was in his bed, having just spent the night with him, it felt like an invasion of privacy to watch. She forced herself to focus intently on an article about the reconstruction on Gringotts roof.Once he was fully clothed, Harry went for the door.

“Need anything else?”

“Yes actually, I was going to have a shower, but I’ve never used a bathroom with so many different controls.” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“It’s state of the art,” Harry protested jokingly, leading her into the bathroom and talking through the controls, “Towels are under the sink. Sorry, but you’ll smell manly with any of those soaps. Nothing floral in sight.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at this revelation despite herself, thanking him. Did that mean she was first girl he'd had to stay? She found herself hoping so.

Harry arrived downstairs just as the floo lit up, Ron Weasley stumbling through into the living room. Harry stood in the doorway, wiping his palms on his jeans before sucking in a deep breath and venturing into the room.

“You have some nerve,” Ron said, voice raised, stepping towards Harry, “Where is she?”

Ron pushed past into the hallway, shouting “Hermione” up the stairs. Harry froze for a moment before following him, putting a hand Ron’s shoulder before he started up the stairs.

“She’s in the shower,” Harry said, immediately abandoning his plan to pretend she’d never come, “We need to talk Ron, come on. Kreacher can make us some lunch, yeah?”

“Lunch?” Ron scoffed, shaking his head in disapproval, “How can you suggest lunch at a time like this? Bloody hell Harry, you were supposed to be my best mate.”

“I am your best mate,” Harry insisted, following Ron back into the living room where they each sat on either side of the coffee table.

“Best mates don’t fuck each other’s girlfriends,” Ron growled, pointing a long finger at Harry’s chest, “It’s like I don’t even know you. Not only did you go behind my back, you’ve got and gotten her pregnant! Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, is about to become a teenage mother! Do you know how many ministers of magic had a child at eighteen? None. Your actions have consequences, Harry!”

Harry avoided eye contact, staring down at Ron’s beat up trainers. He imagined for a moment that this was what it would be like to be scolded by a parent. He hadn’t even thought about the ramifications of having a child, but why would he have? His own parents had him at about this age, he reasoned, but that wasn’t exactly an advertisement for success, was it?

“I’m sorry,” Harry offered weakly, but he meant it, “I didn’t think she was going to get pregnant! We were just—”

“Just what? Just screwing around behind my back?”

“No! It was before you’d even got together, when you left us last Christmas.”

“Oh, that’s fine then, isn’t it,” Ron’s voice dripped sarcasm, “It was just when I’d left because I felt excluded by the two of you, and when Ginny was still sitting at home pining after you. That makes it perfectly okay, since you marked your territory first, right? Should I be apologising for asking out your baby’s mother, in that case?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry was quick to respond, holding his hands up in a lame effort to relax his friend, “I know we shouldn’t have done it, alright? But we were both scared, Ron. We were alone for ages after you left. Neither one of us had any clue how to track down the Horcruxes, and without you it just felt more real. Like we could die at any moment, you know?”

Ron’s scowl softened at this. He was finding it difficult to stay mad at Harry, knowing what he’d been through, but he needed to give him a piece of his mind, nonetheless.

“We were scared we’d die virgins,” Harry admitted, barely above a whisper, finally meeting Ron’s eyes with tears in his own, “How pathetic is that? We betrayed your trust because of some stupid childish fear.”

“It’s not stupid that you did it,” Ron’s voice was softer, “You should have told me, Harry. We’ve been best mates since we were eleven. I can’t believe you were stupid enough to get her pregnant in the first place, but how were you stupid enough to keep it to yourself?”

“I found out after you did,” Harry sighed, the tension slipping from the room as they found common ground, “Last night she just showed up, pregnant. I have no idea what I’m doing here, Ron. I didn’t even have a father, for Merlin’s sake, how am I supposed to become one?”

Ron stood and moved around to Harry’s side of the table, grasping his hand and pulling him to his feet. Both boys had tears in the corners of their eyes as they pulled one another into a hug. Harry smiled onto Ron’s shoulder, clapping him heartily on the back.

This was why Harry valued the friendship so much; no matter what stupid mistake one of them made, the other would always help them through it when it mattered. They stood in the tight embrace for a long moment, before Kreacher appeared in the room with a pop.

“Oh, piss off Kreacher, can’t you see we’re having a moment here?” Ron laughed, wiping his eyes on the cuff of his sweater.

Kreacher shook his head pitifully at the pair, disappearing again without saying a word. Harry grinned at Ron, offering him a hand.

“Are we good?” Harry asked, hoping that they could leave any bad blood behind them. It was too late now to undo what had been done.

“Yeah, don’t worry mate,” Ron smiled back sheepishly, “You’re practically family anyway.”

“Have you told anyone else about it?”

“What, you mean have I told Ginny?” Ron’s expression hardened, a harsh tone coming into his voice, “You had better not do anything stupid here, Harry. You can’t keep dating her while you go and have a kid, okay? Just do the right thing for her.”

He looked stern; a face reminiscent of Molly scolding her sons. Harry nodded in agreement. Ginny didn’t need to be dragged into the whole thing.

“How’d you know it was mine?”

“It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, was it mate?” Ron’s smile had a sadness to it, a kind of reluctant acceptance, “I just knew. It was always there, I suppose, at the back of my mind, that maybe you two really were better off without me. That maybe there was something between the two of you that I just wasn’t part of. It felt like such a victory when we finally shagged, you know? Like suddenly

I was sure she’d picked me, once and for all. But then she just up and left.”

“Are you going to keep dating Hermione?” It was an awkward question, but one that had to be asked sooner or later.

“What, and become step-dad to little Harry Junior?” Ron rolled his eyes, “No thank you. I think I’ll settle for Uncle Ron. Besides, I’d hate to step on your toes.”

Harry couldn’t help the heat rising to his cheeks at Ron’s insinuation, “It’s not like that!” His insistence sounded desperate even to his own ears, “It was a handful of foolish attempts to lose our virginity, Ron. We’re just friends, we don’t like, like each other or anything.”

Ron raised an eyebrow to suggest that he didn’t believe a word of it but didn’t press the point further.

“Are you not annoyed that you’ve finally gotten with her, and then I had to ruin it?” Harry had never known his friend to give up easily, especially not over something he’d worked on for so long.

“When we had sex, it wasn’t what I had expected,” he spoke each word carefully, thinking every syllable through for fear of saying the wrong thing, “For such a long time I had just built it up, that it would be this incredible thing. Don’t get me wrong or anything, I definitely enjoyed myself, it was just…”

“Weird?” Harry finished, nodding in agreement, “I know the feeling.”

“Having sex with Hermione was like, using someone else’s wand,” Ron’s crude metaphor elicited a surprised snort from Harry, “A bit bumpy, a bit difficult to control, it still works fine and everything, but you don’t feel like it’s what you’re meant to be doing. I kept looking down at her and thinking about how strange it was to be inside her.”

Harry nodded again, a smile on his face at this newfound camaraderie. What a strange experience to bond over, both having sex with their best friend. He, too, had felt like it was wrong somehow, how it had felt to see Hagrid in Knockturn Alley. Someone he knew so well suddenly thrust into a new context. It was disorientating more than anything.

“I know I came for lunch, but I really think you should come back to the burrow with me. Ginny should find out sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed nervously. How do you even explain that kind of thing to a girl? He summoned a pair of shoes to pull on, writing a hasty note for Hermione before stepping into the floo with Ron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite like Ron as a character, so if you want him bashed look elsewhere. I figure that after everything they've been through together their friendship can endure this, plus at eighteen the idea of having gotten with the same girl definitely isn't that big a deal. So yeah, I hope ye like the direction I'm taking this, next chapter should be a bit more Hermione's POV and maybe Harry having a chat with Ginny if things go well. Thanks for reading anyway


	3. Fond Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's allusions to sex here but it's not explicit

Hermione relaxed under the stream of hot water, a giant showerhead above her releasing a soft, steady cascade. She closed her eyes and focused on the water running off her body, on the gentle heat warming her, and allowed herself to relax fully. Both hands rested on her stomach, a habit she had formed as soon as she found out she was pregnant. She felt at once connected to the life inside her, and grounded. Although he had yet to start kicking, the baby had a tendency to wiggle, it felt, inside of her, and she delighted in each sensation under her hands. While this whole experience was terrifying, Hermione couldn’t help but feel excited about it too.

It was never on her list of plans to get pregnant. She was sure that one day she would become a mother, but it was far from the top of her priorities. To be fair, she hadn’t been making many plans for the future in the midst of the war. Hence the issue at hand.

Her mind wandered back to the first time they had gotten together as she picked Harry’s most expensive looking shampoo and began the tiresome process of washing her curls.

Ron had been gone a week, and morale was low. Hermione had begun to doubt whether there was an end in sight. Ron’s absence hung over them heavily, a constant reminder of the apparent futility of their efforts.

“Harry, are you ever scared we’ll die?” Hermione broached the topic one night after dark. They sat under the stars, each one studying a different book for any hints at why they were here. Neither one had dared to mention it before, but the weight of the unasked questions was building to a point that Hermione found hard to shoulder alone.

“Only, you know, every morning, afternoon, evening, and night,” Harry replied lightly without missing a beat, “Why d’you ask?”

“I’m being serious, Harry,” she said, putting a hand on his arm to command his full attention, “I’m terrified.”

“I know,” he said without a trace of humour, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his eyes as he turned to face her, “Of course you are, Mione. We probably will at this rate. We’ve been on this stupid quest for months without making any tangible progress, you-know-who is off gallivanting through the ministry like he’s a bloody politician, and we’re still just kids.”

Hermione was taken aback by the candour. His words were angry, but his voice remained steady, even resigned. She realised he’d spent as much time thinking about this as she had and had reached the same miserable conclusions.

“If it weren’t for all this, we’d have such different lives,” Hermione mused, “We’d be stressed about what to do next year, and we’d be studying for the NEWTS—”

“We’re missing out on so much,” Harry scratched the back of his head, a sad smile on his lips, “We’ll never have jobs. We’ll never get married. We’ll never even have sex, for the love of Merlin.”

“We could fix one of those things.” The words had left her mouth before she even registered what she was saying. It was a mixture of the catharsis at finally talking about everything, and her genuine regret for the life she had foregone simply by befriending Harry Potter.

Heat flooded her cheeks as she watched Harry’s delayed reaction, his eyes immediately going wide and the rest of his face frozen in uncertainty. She could almost see the cogs turning in his head as he tried to respond, wondering whether she meant what she’d said.

Once the idea had been thrust out into the world, it quickly began to take shape in her mind. Why shouldn’t they? After all, they were both old enough. She’d certainly entertained the thought before, though never outside her own bedroom. It didn’t seem like a bad idea, necessarily.

Between them a new tension developed, hanging thick in the air with uncertainty as they stared at each other with a newfound curiosity. Hermione felt oddly vulnerable as his eyes roamed her face, trailing slowly over her body as though sizing her up. An unmistakeable hunger shone from behind his startingly green eyes, and Hermione allowed herself to look him over in turn.

A few days’ worth of scruff adorned his jaw, giving him a more mature appearance than he’d had even a few months before. His shirt was loose, unbuttoned at the top to reveal a glimpse of his collarbone and a tuft of dark hair. Her eyes trailed lower, over his strong hands, and she let her imagination run wild with what she wanted him to do to her in that moment.

Harry’s hand crossed the distance, fingers tentatively trailing across the side of her head as he turned her face towards his. He moved agonisingly slowly, leaning towards her as though nervous she would jump away.

She closed the distance herself, pressing her lips against his, both hands stroking along the sides of his neck as they desperately began to move against each other. His hands were on her face, in her hair, on her waist, pulling her closer until she found herself straddling his waist.

He kissed her with a ferocity she was unused to, as though every brush of her tongue against his was the cure to some grievous affliction. His hands explored her body like a blind man trying to learn the curves of her bones off by heart. Her head swam with thoughts and a fog of desire.

She pulled back slowly, looking down into his eyes. He stared blearily up at her, glasses long discarded, a dazed smile on his lips. Without a word he stood, her legs wrapped firmly around his middle, and carried her into the tent.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered in her ear as he lay her down on the bed, hands already fidgeting with the hem of her jumper. She nodded aggressively, lifting herself from the bed to allow him to pull her top off.

He stared down at her in wonder, stalling in his tracks as he took her in. Hermione squirmed under the attention, reaching up to undo his buttons, but he batted her hand away and began tugging at her jeans, fumbling with the button before pulling them down slowly, eyes never leaving her body.

She cursed herself for her underwear choice that morning, mis-matched black and green, chosen for comfort and availability rather than any attempt at allure. Harry couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her, taking in every detail for a long moment before his eyes finally returned to hers.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, climbing over her to plant his lips on her again, fingers struggling to find her bra strap. He pulled and twisted until his lips went still against hers and his face was screwed up in concentration, until she couldn’t help but laugh as his misguided determination.

He laughed alongside her, both of them gasping breathlessly for air between giggles. Hermione reached around behind her back and unsnapped it herself, enjoying the lust that clouded Harry’s face as she pulled the straps down over her shoulders.

She took the opportunity to unbutton his shirt, and he helped her by pulling it off and ridding himself of his pants all in one motion. In seconds, they lay together in their underwear, eyes glued to one another’s bodies.

Hermione grabbed for her wand to cast a warming charm, but Harry beat her to it, grinning down at her as he did it. The heat that filled the bed could be attributed to the charm, though she felt most of it was radiating from the gorgeous wizard above her.

“Shall we get under the covers?” Harry’s voice had a quality to it she was unfamiliar with, a hoarseness she found she enjoyed. He pulled the quilt over himself and she crawled in beside him, hyper aware of every spot in which their bodies touched as they lay face to face.

Strong hands pulled her on top, his thumbs rubbing up and down across her stomach as he held her steady. Hermione enjoyed the sight, letting her hands rest on his chest as she lent over to press a soft kiss to his mouth. She continued to trail kisses across his neck, across his chest, and up along the other side. His heart quickened under her hand, eyes bleary and mouth open in a totally awed expression.

“Are we really doing this?” she could barely form words herself, the anticipation slowing her tongue and heating her cheeks.

Harry smiled haplessly up at her, before gripping her tightly around the ribs and rolling them over so he was hovering over her. They both eagerly shed their last remaining articles of clothing, underwear and socks being thrown from beneath the covers.

“I don’t have a condom,” Harry swore suddenly, rising up on his forearms, “Fuck.”

Hermione barely registered his words, so focused on the feeling of their bodies pressed together, desperate to feel more, to finally come together.

“Mione?” Harry whined breathlessly, rubbing himself against her almost without realising, “Is there some kind of a spell?”

She shook her head, fully aware of the dangers posed by contraceptive magic, “It doesn’t matter,” she needed him now, “It’s not like we’ll live long enough to face the consequences.”

Harry laughed croakily at the dark humour, lowering a hand between them to find his way.

Her shower was over too soon. She’d scrubbed herself with his vast array of lotions and gels until she felt as clean as a new-born, rinsing it all off with cold water to motivate herself to get out of the shower.

Sex with Harry had been a bit awkward, exploratory even, but her memory served only to remind her of the highlights; his adoring gaze, the strength in his arms as he threw her around the bed, even the warmth of falling asleep wrapped up in him arms.

She smiled to herself as she grabbed a clean towel, as soft as the bedsheets, fluffy enough that her fingers sank into it. She wrapped her hair up in a small one and her body in the largest one there, before going back into the bedroom where Kreacher had left her breakfast. She perched on the end of the bed, enjoying the meal and flicking through the rest of the Prophet.

Kreacher appeared with a crack, holding a piece of paper in one hand, the other cautiously covering his eyes, “I heard the shower, Miss Granger,” he said by way of explanation, offering up the note, “I do not wish to see you in a compromised state. Master Potter left this for you, I assume.”

He disappeared with another crack as soon as the words had left his mouth, clearly as uncomfortable in the situation as Hermione. She had scrambled to cover herself up, knocking the dregs of her coffee onto the bedsheets in her haste.

“Oh damn it,” she sighed, wiping furiously with her towel, but it made no difference to the quickly drying brown stain. Harry had opened his home to her, and she was already after ruining his nice bedsheets after less than twelve hours. Without her magic she couldn’t even get rid of the dubious mark.

Resolving to deal with the problem later, she covered it with the Prophet and carefully set her bowl and cup down on the nightstand, reading Harry’s note.

_“Gone burrow with Ron, going to talk with Ginny. All well. Ron didn’t hex me. Be back for dinner. Kreacher is at your disposal. –Harry”_

What was he going to the burrow for? Did this mean he was still dating Ginny? During the last two months they hadn’t discussed trivial, everyday life. The weekly letters they exchanged were more a summation of local news, on Harry’s part, and updates about Australia from Hermione. She wasn’t even sure if Harry and Ginny had gotten together properly after the war, or whether they were still just friends.

This note seemed to be confirming the worst, that Harry had casually popped out to see his girlfriend while his pregnant friend wasn’t even able to leave his bedroom for fear of falling down the stairs. If this was how bad the pregnancy was at six months, she dreaded to think how it would progress. By October she’d be asking for help to even stand.

Blinking hard the tears pricking at the back of her eyes, she finished drying herself off. It wasn’t like her and Harry were even a thing, but some part of her had been assuming that this child would mean they were. It was just what people did, wasn’t it? If you’re having a baby with someone you tend to just be with them. It makes perfectly good sense.

Then again, she reasoned, was that really the most sensible choice? Romantic relationships are so tumultuous and unpredictable, yet two people raising a child together have to be in each other’s lives for decades. Could she commit herself to Harry, and risk their relationship ending, to raise the child separately? Or would they be better off staying friends, bringing the child into a solid home with two parents who weren’t going to stop loving each other for some trivial reason?

Although the option of getting together had never been properly brought to the table, Hermione made her mind up there and then to dismiss it. It simply wasn’t worth the risk.

Dropping her towel to the floor, she realised she didn’t have a change of clothes. Her suitcases had been left at her parents’ house in her rush to flee home. She rooted through Harry’s wardrobe, figuring he wouldn’t mind her borrowing some tracksuit. He certainly wouldn’t object considering the alternative was her strolling around in the nip, embarrassing Kreacher to death.

His biggest jumper was the only one that would fit over her bump, a Gryffindor team jumper with his name over the back. She smiled fondly at the memory of him getting it in third year when they won they cup, complaining that Wood had only ordered them in one size, but refusing her offer to let her shrink it because it “wouldn’t be the same”. It still smelt like him from whenever he’d worn it last.

Figuring that she’d be stuck in the room a while, she summoned Kreacher again to ask for some books from the Black family library.

Settling onto a comfy armchair under the window, Hermione curled up with a book about the effects of magical interference on the development of a foetal wizard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will definitely be Harry going to see Ginny & the Weasleys, I just felt better giving the context to their relationship first because it helps to set the tone   
> Anyway thanks for keeping up this far, I had to send the dodgy flashback to my girlfriend (who doesn't even like Harry Potter) to get the good ole female perspective. Feeling much more confident in that scene after the extra guidance.


	4. Tying Up Loose Ends

Harry had never known the burrow to be so quiet. From the moment he stepped through the floo, everything was… _off_. Ron stood a foot in front of him, hands in his pockets, looking far more awkward than he had before he stepped through the fireplace. For the first time Harry could recall, the house was spotless, every surface gleaming, no clutter on the workspaces. It was as though they had a whole army of house elves.

“C’mon,” Ron said, leading the way through to the kitchen, “Mum’s been asking after you.”

Every visit to the burrow made Harry feel more like an intruder. While he longed to slip so comfortably back into the folds of his almost-family, their mourning had become so tangible that the whole house felt like a funeral parlour. Harry felt the tiniest bit responsible for their loss, as it was during a battle fought over him. He hoped that the funerals next week would do something to alleviate his guilt and help the family to cope with their grief.

“Harry!” Molly and Arthur stood at the end of the kitchen table, decorating a cake the muggle way. Both looked weary, dark shadows under their eyes, and their voices sounded weak, yet they still seemed happy to see him.

Molly put down her icing tube and shuffled up towards Harry, gripping him in a tight hug. He held her for a long moment, smiling over her shoulder at Arthur. Last time he had visited they were obsessively clearing the garden of gnomes, but it seems they had moved on to a new hobby of baking. Perhaps the cleaning was an intermediate phase. Although he had no experience of the stages of grief, Harry doubted these were on the list.

“I’ve come to see Ginny, actually,” Harry said when he had finally been released, “Is she home?”

“Last time I saw her she was upstairs, in her room,” Arthur smiled, a pale imitation of the beam he once wore, “Not that you’d know where her bedroom is,” he winked, some of the sparkle back in his eye.

Harry grinned back awkwardly, thanking them as he made his way upstairs. Ron stayed behind. Harry glanced over his shoulder as he closed the kitchen door, to Molly fussy over Ron like he used to when he was a kid.

“Harry,” George stood in the doorway to his room, calling out as Harry passed, “What brings you here?”

“Oh, uh, I came for Ginny actually,” Harry found it strange to see George alone, without a smile on his face. He looked lost, offering a gentle nod and slipping back inside his room.

“George, wait—” Harry put a hand on the door, unable to bear the thought of him sitting in there alone, “How’s the joke shop coming?”

“Oh, I haven’t reopened yet,” George looked a bit more enthusiastic, “I think I’ll wait ‘til after the funeral, you know?”

“Any new products I should be wary of?”

“I was considering a death-themed range,” a smile ghosted his lips, “But I can’t flesh it out. I work better with someone to bounce ideas off.”

“Have you tried?” Harry asked, then cringed at his own question, “Like, Ron or Ginny? I’m sure they have some good ideas too.”

George narrowed his eyes at Harry, looking him over once like you would inspect borrowed property you’d just gotten back, searching for anything out of place.

“I will,” George nodded with finality after a tense moment, waving Harry off and closing the door with a dull thud.

At the top of the stars, Harry froze outside Ginny’s room, gripped with uncertainty. Should he knock, or just push the door open as he usual did? Would she get the wrong idea, having him show up at her bedroom door? How would he even go about breaking the news? Should lead with the break-up, or the pregnancy? Was she going to hex him, or worse: start crying?

Ginny saved him from his moment of indecision by swinging open her bedroom door and leaving, crashing into Harry who had stood with a hand posed to knock.

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said, stepping back, “I didn’t mean to—”

Ginny batted off the apology, stepping back to let him in, “I was about to go help set up for lunch, but I’m glad to see you.”

“Yeah, well, Ginny, here’s the thing,” Harry mustered up his courage, sitting beside her at the end of the bed, half-turned towards one another.

“We need to talk,” they both blurted at once, followed by a curious silence as they wondered what the other had to say.

“I think I should go first,” Harry was quick to fill the silence, worried that Ginny’s announcement would make his sound even crueller. What if she was about to tell him she loved him, or ask to move in?

“No, Harry, mine is important,” Ginny interrupted with equal ferocity, her face hard as she gently took one of his hands in her own, “I think—”

“We need to break up,” Harry blurted, unable to contain himself, “I’m sorry Ginny, but—”

“Why?” Ginny regarded him curiously, “I was about to break up with you.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging. He allowed himself to flop back on the bed, no longer possessed by the same urgency. That was that taken care of.

“Why do you want to break up,” she persisted, poking him in the stomach. Harry propped himself up on his elbows, wondering how best to phrase it.

“Well, promise me you won’t hex me?”

Ginny nodded, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Hermione is pregnant,” he said, the words still feeling unnatural on his tongue, “It’s mine,” he added as an afterthought.

“Harry!” Ginny leap to her feet, her mouth open, unsure whether to be furious or delighted.

“I’m sorry,” he was sincere, holding his palms in front of his chest in a gesture of surrender, “I know I was a crappy boyfriend, but it happened ages ago. I only just found out, and—”

“I don’t know what to say,” Ginny shook her head, barely able to process the absurdity of it, “Hermione, pregnant? I can’t believe it. You, I can see doing something so reckless, but _Hermione_? Merlin, Harry, is she okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” he was caught off guard by the change in direction, “She’s back at Grimmauld Place.”

“Who else knows?”

“Well, Ron—”

“How’d he take it?” Ginny asked, worried about her brother. He’d been struggling lately, like the rest of the Weasley clan, feeling lost in himself.

“He took it well, actually. Very understanding, he wasn’t even that upset.”

Ginny was relieved to hear it. The last thing any of them needed was another heartbreak.

“Why were you going to break up with me?” Harry asked.

“Oh,” Ginny shrugged, “It just felt kind of weird.”

Harry sat up straight, urging her on.

“I don’t know how to explain it. I really do care about you Harry, but we aren’t going in the same direction anymore. There was something so romantic about the idea that we’d die loving each other, right? And then it became a bit, forced.”

“Like we’re going in different directions all of a sudden?”

“Exactly. Since the war you’re growing more into yourself, which is great. I just don’t think I fit into the narrative. I don’t want to keep pushing something end have it break.”

Harry stood up from the bed, feeling oddly hurt. While he had come here to do the same thing, he hadn’t realised how much he really did like being with Ginny. It may not have been the right thing, but he was going to miss being her boyfriend.

She stepped forward to hug him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. At least it wasn’t ending horribly, with drama or fighting. It was all going as well as could be hoped for.

“And you’re not mad at me for having sex with Hermione,” Harry ventured cautiously.

Ginny laughed, a high girlish giggle that she couldn’t hold in, “I get the feeling that the consequences of that decision are catching up to you enough as it is. Any hex I can put on you will pale in comparison to what you’re going to have to deal with, Harry.”

She grinned at him, letting him know it was all good-natured banter, and opened the door to her room. They returned downstairs, an easy silence between them. Before anything else, they had been good friends, and he was sure they could return to that.

“Harry, dear, will you stay for lunch?” Molly asked hopefully at the bottom of the stairs, and Harry found he couldn’t refuse. The scents wafting out from the kitchen were heavenly, a full Sunday roasting sitting on the table, the entire Weasley family sitting around.

Harry slid into the only free seat, between George and Molly, wincing at the realisation he was probably in Fred’s place. Nobody passed comment, instead doling out the food, passing dishes up and down the table in muted festivity. While it was a lively atmosphere, it was nowhere near as boisterous as family meals had once been. Grief had a way of eating away at everyone from the inside, making their smiles look a bit more fake, their eyes more tired, every word heavier with the weight of expectation, that it could never garner a reply from the once person they most wished to speak with.

Molly’s cooking was as exceptional as always, the sheer volume of food on the table a monument to how aggressively she had thrown herself into her duty as mother. Harry got Ron’s eye across the table, a knowing smile on his lips, both acknowledging the power of a good meal. After so many hungry months on the run, they had come to cherish food far more than they had before, appreciating the effort they had once taken for granted.

“So, Ron, how was your trip to Australia?” Arthur’s chipper voice spoke up above the din of knives and forks, “How’s Hermione? It was a notoriously short trip; I hope she’d coming back soon.”

“Oh, well,” Ron swallowed a mouthful of chicken, risking a glance at Harry who sat frozen with his fork halfway to his mouth, “About that, actually. There’s a bit of news in that area.”

“You’ve broken up?” Percy ventured a guess, “I always liked Hermione, you know. She was leading you in a good direction, Ronald. You could stand to learn much from her.”

“She’s not exactly role model material,” Ginny retorted with a raise of her eyebrow.

“Now, now, Ginny,” Arthur intervened, “Hermione is a lovely young lady.”

“I actually have something to add,” Harry plucked up his courage, worried about how they would take it. Molly had never been the hugest fan of rumours about himself and Hermione, and he worried that it would upset her. “Hermione and I are expecting a child.”

Everyone froze. All eyes were on Harry, mouths hanging open. He felt awkward under the scrutiny, taking another bite of mashed potato.

Molly was the first to react, turning to face him, holding his face between her two hands. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she inspected his face, a sad smile gracing her lips.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered, squeezing his cheeks, “I’m so proud of you.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond, smiling awkwardly back at her.

“The first grandchild!” Arthur grinned over at them, reaching a hand around his wife to pat Harry on the back.

“What?” Harry was caught off guard by how excited they sounded about it.

“You’re family, Harry,” Molly kissed him on the forehead, wetting his face with her tears, “You’re both family.”

“How far along is she?” Bill asked, and Harry realised the whole family wore identical grins.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, doing sums on his fingers, “Maybe six months? Seven?”

“The poor thing,” Molly sniffed, “She’ll need some guidance. It’s a hard thing, carrying a wizard. Has she been using magic? It’s an old superstition, never to—"

“Yeah, she’s been reading up on it,” Harry nodded, “I have no idea what to do. Maybe you should visit her, you know far more about it than anyone else I know.”

Molly smiled enthusiastically, agreeing to help out. The rest of the meal passed with far more excitement, everyone volleying questions and offering up advice.

“Me and Bill, ve are trying also,” Fleur confided in Harry after the meal, “Maybe our cheeldren, zey vill be friends?”

Bill pulled him into a hug, joking that anyone who gave Molly her first grandchild was bound to be the favourite. Harry felt once again like he belonged here, that this new adventure was bringing him back into the family.

“I really should go home to Hermione,” Harry excused himself after they’d eaten cake and chatted about every possible baby-related topic under the sun.

“You’ll bring her round soon, won’t you?” Molly urged, then settled into the sad smile she wore so well, “You’re both coming to the funerals next week, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Harry reassured her, and they walked towards the floo, “I wouldn’t miss them.”

Molly walked him to the floo, pulling him in for another crushing hug before he left. She made him promise that he’d call around his he had any questions.

“Will there be a wedding?”

Harry was caught off guard. He shrugged awkwardly, stepping in to the floo.

“Make an honest woman of her, Harry,” Molly urged, waving him off as he was whisked away to Grimmauld Place.

Marry her? The thought hadn’t so much as crossed his mind. He knew, of course, that it was the done thing, but he hadn’t considered actually doing it. It wasn’t that he had anything against the idea though. Hermione was his best friend. He had really enjoyed the sex, even if it was strange. But weren’t you supposed to get married because you were in love with someone?

He mulled over the idea as he climbed the stairs, wondering what Hermione thought about the whole thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the supportive Weasleys, and the idea that Harry is just that little bit lost. With all the announcements out of the way, next chapter will just be Harry and Hermione, maybe they'll see where each other's heads are at, might just be some fluff. Thanks for reading! Everytime I see a new comment it gives me the motivation to just bang out a chapter or a new scene or something. I've too much time on my hands since all my exams have been pushed back a couple months and I have absolutely no motivation to study for them (well done to the Irish government for that one).  
> Hope you're liking where this is going anyway, stay tuned


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